[26 February 1845]. Browning, Robert to Browning, Elizabeth Barrett.

              Wednesday Morning- Spring! 

Real warm Spring, dear Miss Barrett, and the birds know it; and in Spring I shall see you, surely see you .. for when did I once fail to get whatever I had set my heart upon?-as I ask myself sometimes, with a strange fear.

I took up this paper to write a great deal: now, I don’t think I shall write much. “I shall see you,” I say!

That “Luria” you enquire about, shall be my last play .. for it is but a play, woe’s me! I have one done here-“A Soul’s Tragedy,” as it is properly enough called,-but that would not do to end with-(end I will)-and Luria is a Moor, of Othello’s country, and devotes himself to something he thinks Florence, and the old fortune follows-all in my brain, yet, but the bright weather helps and I will soon loosen my Braccio, and Puccio (-a pale discontented man)-and Tiburzio (the Pisan, good true fellow, this one) and Domizia the Lady .. loosen all these on dear foolish (ravishing must his folly be)-golden-hearted Luria: all these with their worldly-wisdom, and Tuscan shrewd ways,-and, for me, the misfortune is, I sympathize just as much with these as with him,-so there can no good come of keeping this wild company any longer, and “Luria” and the other sadder ruin of one Chiappino,-these got rid of, I will do as you bid me, and .. say first I have some Romances and Lyrics, all dramatic, to dispatch, and then, I shall stoop of a sudden under and out of this dancing